


i want to live in fire (with all the taste i desire)

by amb-roses (overtture)



Category: Professional Wrestling, World Wrestling Entertainment
Genre: Enemies to Friends, FCW era, Feelings Realization, Gen, Love At First Punch, Obsessive Behavior, Pre-Relationship, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, ask to tag, but not. weird. okay a LITTLE weird but also its dean so., relationship can mean romantic or just platonic, wrestling soulmates
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-12
Updated: 2019-06-12
Packaged: 2020-05-02 04:58:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,201
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19192291
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/overtture/pseuds/amb-roses
Summary: The first time they meet, Seth Rollins is an absolute dick. Dean decides on the spot that he wants to kick his ass. What a champion, walking around Florida shows in a stupid lookin’ ballcap like he’s going for dad of the fuckin’ year. He thinks he's tough shit, all his ducks in a row, all neatly lined up to challenge him.And yet, for all his need to measure up against everyone else, he doesn't for a second look towards Dean, his only salvation? What a fuckin' joke.





	i want to live in fire (with all the taste i desire)

**Author's Note:**

> so i found this little drabble when going through my files, and you know i wrote this ages ago because one, it /feels/ old, and two, docs couldnt even give me a DATE for the last time i wrote this/touched it, so dont ask where any of this came from. i have no memory. either way, i figured it wasnt half bad and mostly just fixed some spelling and added a few bits here and there, might as well post it!
> 
> title is from path (vol 2) by apocalyptica

The first time they meet, Seth Rollins is an absolute dick.

Dean decides on the spot that he wants to kick his ass, if he can make space in his busy schedule. Rollins tries to start a fistfight and Dean shuts _that_ down real fast, but that doesn’t quell his curiosity of what could’ve been.

Really, Dean just can’t stand him.

The man’s a cocky prick, walking around Florida shows in a stupid lookin’ ballcap like he’s going for dad of the fuckin’ year. He can’t take a joke either, Christ. The man takes everything so serious it’s a wonder the damn idiot hasn’t given himself an aneurysm with how much he looks like he’s about to lose it over stupid shit. He cares too much, Dean settles with. He cares way too much, 100% of the time, and his need to control everything goes against a lot of how Dean works, so it only makes sense that they end up fighting at some point.  

Seth Rollins thinks he’s hot stuff. Dean Ambrose knows this to be false. He knows the big wigs behind the scenes probably want him on a set path, want to keep him out of the way for now and build him up like they did to their little pet project Seth. He also knows, however, that he doesn’t particularly care what they want. Seth is the top dog, the man, for now. Dean is a trendsetter, the man with the measuring stick in one hand and a dozen past titles held in the other.

Yet Seth’s… too busy for him? Too busy defending his title, focus elsewhere? Well, that simply wouldn’t do, would it? He thinks he’s better than him? That he _means something_ when he’s never even glanced in _Dean Ambrose’s_ direction? What a fuckin’ joke. He even looks _bored._ Seth and his little empire, his little world, every superstar tucked in line nice and neat as he lets each line up to face him for a little strip of plastic-y leather and cheap metal, worth just as much. A champion is measured by his ability to raise the title above them, to both lift it above their heads physically after a grueling match and to raise the bar so high nobody can even see it.

Seth Rollins just wasn’t measuring up.

 

**Seth Rollins defeats Dean Ambrose.**

 

He grits his teeth and gets back up, drives his feet harder against the canvas, throws himself harder, faster, stronger, better. Again. Again. Again. Was this FCW? Was this what FCW was about, at its elusive core? Blood pumping strong and loud in your ears, the sweat and half-step-ahead thinking and half-prediction half-instinct of you against your opponent? The singing in his limbs, his body, that euphoric buzz he could chase to his heart's content?

That magnetic orbit, a swinging pendulum back and forth and back and in every direction at once and that _life and energy and burn of your muscles as you meet again in the center, as he climbs up and leaps from a turnbuckle like a cliff’s edge to clash with you where you jump to meet him like you were two parts of a single puzzle too rough to piece together but too connected to dare think of straying apart._

_You hate him, you can’t stand him, you fucking hate him and his control and smug smirk and talent and power, that spark in his eyes. That legend hiding, ghosting him, a half step out of time, that potential in his bones, the angry burn of talent and skill in tandem, destiny in his skinny little stride, in his motions that you can see headlining all around the world if you blink funny and squint. You fucking hate him, everything he is and will be._

_You need to fight him again._

 

**Seth Rollins defeats Dean Ambrose.**

 

He kicks against a locker until he’s driving his boot over and over to the shriek of however may nerve endings are still alive in his toes, until the metal gives way and his own bodily exhaustion forces him onto his ass on the tiled floor. Thank God, because it takes leaning against it to keep from scratching the itch and trying to force his body to keep chugging. Standing to his feet to pace sounds like hell, enough effort he doesn’t dare even as energy thrums through his very being, worming its way into his core like a second wind he definitely doesn’t need.

He settled for tapping and twitching his fingers on the bench until the wood creaks under each pounding fist he smashes into it.

Dean can’t let it go.

_Again. Again, again, again. Again, again, again, ag—_

 

**Seth Rollins defeats Dean Ambrose.**

 

Oh.

This time around, that roiling hurricane flood of emotion and adrenaline clears away into dawning realization, simple, clear. A path he hadn’t even considered on the winding roads leading forward.

He presses his deeper aches, the few that look to be forming into weak bruises, relishing to himself in the way they snap back and pulse at him angrily.

Seth Rollins...

 

**Leakee defeats Dean Ambrose.**

 

_Oh._

The realization burns faintly in his chest, like a sunburn, and he wonders if the endgame is a wildfire. He wonders if the future will burn him up. He wonders if he’ll like it.

 

Rumor is, they’re looking for scum of the Earth. Mercenaries. A few assholes who’ll scratch a few backs for an opportunity to jump directly onto the main roster. A couple jobs here and there, more than that really, and in the same instance he’d be on the main roster. Dean thinks of every ounce, every pint of blood he’s ever lost, every countless layer of sweat sticking to his skin after a match, every empty crowd and every full one.

He thinks of the main roster, the power and raw, surreal energy of thousands of people shouting and pouring their heart and belief into you. _You under the spotlights, shrouded in light and surrounded on all sides by parallel ropes and canvas with just enough give under your feet and the shadows of the crowd around you, just visible enough. That language of body and blood, sweat, tears, that world that’s always been yours, unfaltering, unrelenting, but always yours just as much as you are its._

He agrees to it instantly.

(They think he didn’t bother thinking it through. Probably thought he didn’t think about it at all, just agreed offhand. Impulsively.

Dean had agreed impulsively. That didn’t mean he hadn’t previously thought about it, thought it through.

It’s all he does.)

 

It's Dean Ambrose with Paul Heyman. Then as they enter the office, it's Dean Ambrose, Paul Heyman, Seth Rollins, and Roman Reigns.

“Get along,” Heyman says. “Get along, be the stable I know you can be, and the wrestling world will bend.”

Dean trembles at the thought and stares back at the two who watch him closely. He smiles, he'll be good, and holds his hand out to shake. Seth narrows his eyes in something akin to suspicion but Roman takes his hand and shakes it, gives him a sorta-smile.

The sunburn stings and his heart nearly sings.


End file.
